


Team Building

by Scrunchles



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood, Hate Sex, M/M, Slightly Dub Con, Violence, dumb jokes within, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RED had won the battle. </p><p>It was just another little sliver of anger and blame to throw around the BLU team’s ranks.  Most of all, it was just another reason for the BLU Heavy and Medic to hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team Building

**Author's Note:**

> Written upon the request of a Tumblr anon for Heavy/Medic hate sex.

RED had won the battle. 

It was just another little sliver of anger and blame to throw around the BLU team’s ranks.  Six and a half pairs of eyes seethed alternately at the Medic hurrying back to the locker room in front of them, and the murderous Heavy stalking behind them.  The two had never been able to work together before, had barely tried. It was a clash of personalities, beliefs and values, as well as a lingering strain from the second World War…

The battlefield was the only place they hadn’t fought, and now that had lost its pardon as well.

The only conceivable way that the BLUs could hope to combat the RED Heavy/Medic combo was with one of their own.  It had taken the entire team’s insistence on the plan for the two to even consider teaming up.  They had relented, agreeing that it was the best for the team.  It was the best for themselves.

It really wasn’t.

The locker room was silent as the angry mercs stowed their weapons and changed from their mud, blood and (in some cases) urine stained uniforms.  Heavy eventually joined them, a short stride and over three hundred pounds of weaponry slowing him to the point that Medic was just about ready to head to his infirmary and review the lengthy respawn logs of the day. 

The doctor quickly slipped his glasses on and slammed his locker.  He would clean his bonesaw later, when it wouldn’t mean stewing in the silent tension of his teammates.  He knew that he was being blamed for the Heavy’s incompetence.  He knew that they were judging his skills by how much the fat Russian had bitched at him during the battle. 

Medic left the room just as Heavy grumbled out an acrid, “Medic,” as if he were about to try to talk to the German.

His ears were buzzing as he hurried down the hall to his infirmary, rage bubbling just beneath the surface.  How  _dare_  that bumbling oaf blame  _him_  for their loss.

“MEDIC!” 

The roar caused the man to flinch and glance back at the large Russian walking toward him at a surprisingly fast pace.  He snorted and rolled his eyes as he entered his office.  If the man wanted to talk to him, he could do it in the semi-privacy of his office, not in the locker room or the middle of the hall.

He was able to settle at his desk at least, and begin organizing his print outs when Heavy burst in, almost ripping his door from its hinges and with a glare most men would quell at.  He would not.

“I demand apology for poor teamwork.”  Heavy stated, approaching the desk with a ponderous, dangerous gait that one might associate with a grizzly bear about to maul.

Medic scoffed at the notion and straightened his glasses.  “I will do no such thing.  First, I am not in the wrong!  Second, you are a fool to think that we could work together after such a—“

“I am not stupid fool, you are ignorant and boorish with no knowing of tactics!”

“Oh, did Spy lend you his thesaurus? Or did you blunder in while I wasn’t looking and steal mine?”  Medic turned to appraise his bookshelf, simultaneously accusing Heavy and showing him that he didn’t see him as a threat.

He soon saw his error when the giant’s hand grabbed his shirtfront and hauled him over the desk, scattering papers and knocking him around so badly that he would likely have several bruises and a knot on his legs.  “YOU DO NOT MOVE LITTLE HEALING GUN OFF OF ME!”  Heavy roared at him, his one hand gripping the Medic’s shirt front and the other fisted by his side, not yet cocked but obviously eager to teach the German some manners.

“THERE ARE OTHERS ON THE FIELD BESIDES YOU,  _DUMMKOPF_!  IF YOU WOULD MOVE AROUND MORE WHEN I DON’T HAVE THE GUN ON YOU—“ Medic was not one to be intimidated by volume.  He reared up to his own full height and attempted to face off with the larger man, who had a good four inches on him at least.

“WHEN I MOVE, YOU TELL ME TO STILL!”  Heavy boomed back, his other hand coming up to grip Medic’s shoulder.  It wasn’t until his boots scraped the tiles of his infirmary that Medic realized he was being hefted up extremely easily.  Panic shot through him, but he continued to raise his voice to the other man.  Physical intimidation would not work on him.  He was in the right.

“NO, ZHAT IS  _VHEN I AM HEALING YOU.  VHEN I HEAL YOU, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO GUARD ME, NOT FROLLICK AROUND LIKE SOME LITTLE SCOUT_!”  His accent had thickened with rage, fear, and outrage that the Heavy had him at eye level.  The grip on his shoulder was flirting with breaking his scapula and perhaps even cracking the head of his humerus, and at his last barb, it only tightened more dangerously.

“Do not ever call me a little Scout…” Heavy’s voice dipped down to something more terrifying than their previous shouting, and Medic felt his mouth twitch as he realized that this was not a good idea.  He was actually on par with Scout-level stupid.

Medic’s heart was racing and he suddenly felt like a house cat having a roaring match with a lion.  He hoped that Heavy couldn’t sense the fear creeping upon him.  If the man wanted him dead, he would have killed him already.  Wouldn’t he?

Heavy smirked at the resulting silence, and slowly lowered Medic back to his feet.  He looked too smug, too victorious for Medic to just leave it all at that.  “Oh!  Am I supposed to be scared of you now?!”  He snorted and raised his hand to smack Heavy’s away from his shoulder and grip the wrist of the sweaty paw still gripping the front of his shirt.  “Intimidated by your strength?”  He jabbed his thumb into a pressure point on Heavy’s wrist and twisted the limp fingers off of him before shoving the offending limb back at the larger man.  “Is that how you savages solve your problems?”  He hissed, sneering at the snarling Heavy and raising his palms to shove him.

Except Heavy didn’t seem to even  _feel_  the exertion and both of his hands came up to grip Medic’s shirt, a look of utter loathing on his face as he hauled the man close.  One of his hands left Medic’s shirt to grip the back of his head, his thumb curling over the joint of Medic’s mandible and his thick middle finger just barely grazing the opposite edge of his mouth.  Medic wanted to squirm and shove against Heavy, scream that he be put down and that the brute leave his office.  His hands on Heavy’s chest were still pushing, but there was no reaction from the giant.  He just held Medic on his tiptoes by his head and shirt, and smirked down at him with a victorious air.

“You cannot say that you are not intimidated,” Heavy rumbled inches away from his face.  Salami and cheese from his last sandvich was rank on his breath.  “I can see it in your eyes…” he grinned and tilted his head ever so slightly and his pinky finger wicked away perspiration from Medic’s neck, “and smell it in your sweat.”  The hand loosened slightly and Medic was allowed onto the balls of his feet rather than just the toes of his boots.

“Do you… enjoy my fear?” Medic asked, barely able to maintain his decorum as he felt a flicker of arousal rush through him.  He licked his dry lips and smirked when something in Heavy’s eyes darkened further, from barely contained hatred to pent-up need.  After several minutes with no clever little answer in broken English, Medic leaned closer and felt the hand in his shirt tighten.  “Why don’t we settle this dispute like  _gentlemen_?”  He suggested, the cold edge that had been softened by fear back in full force.  He slipped further out of the hand on his head, the firm, angry grip turning into something of a harsh cradle.  The hand in his shirt tighten further, felt two buttons crunch together and a shoulder seam pop. 

“Do it.” Medic breathed, a wry chuckle at the back of his throat.

With a half grunt, half snarl, Heavy’s hand wrenched Medic’s shirt and ripped it away, leaving the man’s shoulder and arm red and jerking Medic’s body a bit, but the German was too enraptured in the man’s lips to care.  Angry teeth delayed tongues from twining, and Medic’s own hands scraped over the mud crusted bandolier and vest.  His ass met his desk, and he spread his legs for Heavy to press closer, carelessly kicking the man with his boot heels as he brought his long, lean legs around Heavy’s astoundingly short ones. 

His fingers fumbled to get beneath and lift the heavy line of shells from Heavy’s shoulder.  He broke away from Heavy’s hard, desperate mouth briefly enough to catch sight of his flushed face and closed eyes as he got the heavy thing off.  The Russian’s firm hand on his head jerked him back in, and he felt his lips bruise from the force. 

Heavy shrugged his left shoulder and the bandolier slumped to the floor with a heavy, metallic thud.  Medic felt a moment of surprise at the sound of all the weight and pulled back to breathe and work on getting Heavy’s vest off.  When he realized that it would be too much work and Heavy was just pulling his pants roughly down and ignoring his belt, his hands moved to Heavy’s own and undid it quickly before shoving at the pants. 

Heavy’s hand jerked him back into another hard, harsh kiss full of teeth and hate and grumbled Russian obscenities that Medic could only identify from the hostile tone.  He wrapped his legs around Heavy again and pulled himself up to press against the man, the harsh scratch of his vest’s material grating against Medic’s undershirt and skin.  One of his hands was gripping the back of Heavy’s neck and the other was hooked around his shoulder, helping to give him the leverage to ferociously kiss the other man back.

Medic’s ass hit the desk again, and he felt paperwork slide beneath him and heard the creak of the wood as Heavy loomed over him, his hips thrusting and grinding their erections together in slow, smooth movements. 

His breath hitched at the pleasure of it, mixing with the pain of the teeth on his lips and the hand that had slipped down to grip his hip with a strength that he just knew would bruise.  He thrusted back against Heavy, breaths quick and nasal as his leaking cock gave them something slick to work with besides the sweat of a large, highly active man running around with well over three hundred pounds of equipment and badly breathing pants.

It should have disgusted him, how dirty they both still were, the blood and mud now smeared against his sweaty skin and turning his previously white undershirt light brown and a dark, dirty pink.  He should have been disgusted by the man above him, his teeth and tongue ravaging his lips and mouth, the hand forcing his mouth in close so that he couldn’t pull away even if he had wanted to.  He was lightheaded from the jolts of pleasure from their cocks rubbing together—another thing he should be disgusted by—and how little oxygen he could pull in through his nostrils.  He felt almost blissful, if not sore from the motley of bruises that would be left on his body by the time they finished.  His hand on Heavy’s neck slipped down the sweating, heaving giant’s massive body to his comparatively lacking ass and gave it a squeeze, encouraging the thrusts to become quicker and harder before slipping over to probe a finger into the man’s ass.

Heavy was pulling away before Medic knew it and the man suddenly flipped him over and pushed him painfully into his desk.

“This is not how this goes.”  Heavy’s voice was still low and it now rumbled with a new rage

“Then stop fucking around and  _fuck me_ , you lazy bear.”  Medic hissed, pulling one of his arms from beneath himself and reaching for his drawer containing his personal lubricant.  He tossed it over his shoulder and a meaty hand slapped his back hard.  He supposed he’d aimed correctly and hit the Russian in the face with it.  A smirk slipped over his lips and he had to resist grinding into the hard wood of his desk.  That would only hurt him.  He trailed his hand that was still pinned beneath him down to cup and stroke himself when he felt the head of Heavy’s erection at his entrance and went cold. 

“ _Nein_!”  Medic scrambled to move, but a large paw clamped on his hip and he felt the head of the man’s girthy cock breach his anus.  “ _You are supposed to prepare me first_!”  Medic shrieked in German, but Heavy just laughed and continued thrusting.  Medic gritted his teeth, unwilling to back down from this.  He could take it.

Heavy gave a particularly hard yet shallow thrust and it sent a wave of pain through Medic.  He gasped for air and his right hand scrabbled at his desk, his other still shielding his cock from the hard surface.

Medic made a high, pained sound and the hand on his hip tightened slightly, the Heavy’s thrusts becoming harder and faster.  His other hand slipped beneath Medic to wrap around his cock, and the doctor reluctantly found himself thrusting into the coarse palm.  His hand moved up to join his other hand in gripping his desk and holding on for dear life.  He growled and shot a glare over his shoulder at the very self-satisfied looking Heavy.

“ _You fuck like a girl, is that how Russia turns out such weak men_?”  He goaded, letting his tone and expression do the talking for him.  He would recover his English later, though that might be more lethal than taunting the giant in his native tongue.

“ _You want me break you_?”  Heavy grunted back in terribly accented, broken German.

Medic paled and the man above him gave him a wide, terrible grin.  He pulled out, giving Medic’s poor, pained ass enough of a break that he could flip him over and pin him to the desk by his neck while his other hand aided in reinserting himself before he took the Medic by both shoulders and gave him a rather gentle slam back into his desk.  It was gentle in the respect that he lost his breath from it, but he didn’t lose consciousness. 

“ _Not really, but if you are going to fuck me, at least stop taking your time and just_ do it _._ ”  Medic ground back, glaring up at Heavy with his teeth bared. 

Heavy paused in his thrusts and seemed to be sizing Medic up, his rage and lust receding behind something akin to surprise and amusement.  Perhaps even a dash of respect.  “ _You insist_.”  He finally said before giving Medic a mighty thrust with a fierce roar. 

Something hurt deep inside him, and there was a new slickness to the Heavy’s movements, but the pain only served to aid his flagging erection.  He shifted his hand over to grip himself, barely able to reach thanks to Heavy’s hands pinning his shoulders.  Another wave of pain hit him as Heavy’s pace and the strength of his thrusts reflected his intention to hurt Medic.

Medic gasped for breath and arched himself, his hand barely helping him along.  His shoulder was still pinioned and it just prevented him from getting a good grip, a good angle or a good speed. 

“ _Jerk me off, you ass._ ”  He ordered as a new wave of pain washed through him.  When Heavy laughed at his order, he bucked his hips and enjoyed watching the look on the man’s face change.  “ _You know, this will go much better if we worked together_.”  He purred, bucking his hips again and feeling the large cock inside him brush against his prostate.  It made him shiver, and he grinned up at the Heavy with half-lidded eyes as the man’s thrusts slowed. 

“ _Fine_.”  Heavy grunted with a nod.  His hand on Medic’s left shoulder slipped down to grip his erection and Medic arched at the touch, nothing so soft and careful as a lover might give him, but a hard, firm jerking that made his hips jerk and snap with pained ecstasy.

“ _Yes, yes_ …” he gasped, rolling his hips to get the giant’s prick to brush up against his prostate again and again and clenching around him as he moved to make the man’s eyes snap shut and a groan roll from his throat.  “ _Yes, you stupid, stupid man.  That is it.  This is how you are to fuck me_.”

“ _I do not like orders_.”  Heavy rumbled, and his hand gave Medic a light, warning squeeze.  It was accompanied with a twisting pull, though, and Medic arched up, his eyes fluttering shut and his hips desperately aching for more of the large man’s hand. 

“ _I hate you_.” Medic hissed when Heavy refused to do it again.

“ _I know_.”  Heavy hummed and chuckled at Medic’s distress.  He continued stroking the doctor as his hips picked up the pace again, giving him the twisting pull every few thrusts just to keep the man from talking again.  His hips snapped to and fro.  Hard, quick thrusts tore Medic apart and the doctor writhed beneath him, ecstatic from the pain and the slick slide of their sweaty hips and thighs and arms. 

“Ach…” Medic gasped, arching and hovering his hips off of the desk as he felt himself roll over the edge between Heavy’s hard, harsh thrusts and the reluctant hand pulling at his cock.  “ _Yes… yes…_ ” he breathed, his hips still rocking between the hand on his cock and the cock in his ass.  When he opened his eyes, he saw Heavy’s red face and the hungry way he was watching Medic come.  It wasn’t long before a new, hot slickness filled him, and Medic bit his lip to contain his moan.  He was not enjoying this.  They were just clearing the air with a short fuck.

“ _Da_ …” Heavy sighed in his native tongue, several other guttural sounds of approval leaving him as he continued his thrusts until his dick was limp and easily slipped out of the man.  Blood, sweat, semen and a little mud stained Medic’s desk as he lay there, heaving and exhausted.  He heard Heavy pull his pants back up and buckle his belt before reaching for his bandolier. 

“I… I think we did well.”  Medic commented, his hands moving up and down his body, checking for bruises and welts and his tongue probing out to taste blood from where his lip had either been split from the pressure of their kiss or Heavy had bitten him too hard.

“Yes, good teamwork.”  Heavy rumbled, only a little derisively.

Medic groaned pathetically as he sat up and rubbed his hand through his hair.  “Good talk.”  He snickered and rolled his eyes as he gave Heavy, for once, a genuine smile.

The man hesitated before returning it, his bandolier slung over his shoulder and his bald head glistening with the sweat of exertion.  “Yes it was.  Perhaps we try to team again.”  He mentioned, raising a brow.

Medic snorted and shook his head.  “Not until you learn  _what_  your job is,  _when_  it is, and give me a God damned sandwich when I’m low on health.”

“I have better things to do than take care of little nurse.”  Heavy rumbled, his smile wilting into a hard look at the man.

“Yes, well, there are six other men on the team, I’m sure one of them will not be so opposed to my healing them.”

“Six?”  Heavy’s brow furrowed and he leaned on the desk’s edge.  “Medic is not good with numbers.”

“Oh, no.  Scout does not count.”  He waved his hand and tenderly stood before reaching down to pull his soiled underwear and pants back up.  He wasn’t expecting the booming laugh and the broad hand patting his back, and almost pitched forward when it came.

“Ah, that is good one, Medic.  Scout is like little baby, yes?”  Heavy continued to chuckle even after he got a reluctant nod from Medic. 

“He is a child, yes.”  He agreed, buckling his belt and casting a glance to his ruined dress shirt before shrugging it off.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I now need a shower before I get to work.”  He motioned to his paperwork on the floor and desk, more than a few pages stained with blood, sweat and the black lettering on a few papers obscured with white globs.

“Of course,” Heavy replied, smirking at his handy work on Medic’s desk before turning to leave, certainly in a better mood than he had been upon entering.

Medic’s legs trembled as soon as the door closed and he put a hand on his desk for support.   Perhaps he should use his mounted Medigun a bit before taking that shower.


End file.
